


Those Three Brothers

by governmentgoldfish



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV), Third Star (2010)
Genre: But not in order, Gen, Not Beta'd, holmes triplets, ive got a few bits already written out, need to sort that out, will update when i can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5720890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/governmentgoldfish/pseuds/governmentgoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbly type things that all bunch together to make a story im too lazy to fully write!! James (Third Star), Sherlock (BBC) and Martin (Cabin Pressure) are triplets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Three Brothers

When John walked through the door he was met with the sight of Mrs. Hudson leaning against the bannister, staring up the stairs and smiling. He rose a brow, stepping forwards and clearing his throat. She jumped a little and he apologised with a smile, before glancing upstairs. It was very quiet…

“Is Sherlock home?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, dear, they’re upstairs.” Before John could ask who ‘they’ were, Mrs. Hudson excused herself and rushed back into her own flat.

With a soft frown John made his way up.

Living with Sherlock, he had walked into 221b and seen all manner of things. What he was faced with now, however, was probably one of the strangest. He was used to seeing Sherlock laid out on the sofa, but he certainly wasn’t- this wasn’t-

John gaped. Somehow, there were three Sherlocks. Three Sherlocks, tangled in a mess of gangly limbs, fast asleep on a sofa that certainly wasn’t designed for what was happening. How did they even-?

The first Sherlock - his Sherlock - was laying, head on one of of the sofa, a foot to his chin shoving his head back, and what looked to be a trilby covering his face. John was only sure it was his Sherlock, because no one got to wear Sherlock’s blue dressing gown other than Sherlock. No one. Plus, this one had Sherlock’s dark, curly hair. One of his arms was hanging limply off the sofa, as was one of his legs, while the other arm wrapped around the foot in his face. The leg that foot was attached to belonged to the second Sherlock. Under the flap of, for some absurd reason, a deerstalker John could see a mess of fiery ginger curls. Across his torso, which was covered by a dark jacket, adorned with four golden epaulettes, was Sherlock’s other leg. 

The third Sherlock almost had the originals hair colour, though a bit lighter, from what he could tell. For some reason, he had one leg thrown over the back of the sofa, and another in an embrace with the ginger Sherlock’s arms. Most of his torso was hanging off the sofa, head almost touching the floor, and this one had a pilot's hat covering his face.

It was a good two minutes of staring before John actually moved, and even then it was because the sound of a mobile going off made him jump. Him, and the three on the sofa, in fact. The ginger one jolted, kicking Sherlock Sherlock in the face, causing him to bite his tongue and then, whilst exclaiming in pain from that, accidentally clamping his teeth around part of the foot in his face. This, in turn, made the ginger one yell out, kicking back and knocking the third Sherlock off the sofa and onto the floor, where he bumped his head.

There was a round of groaning, and the ringing continued.

“Shut y’ bloody phone off.” Came a muffled voice from beneath one of the hats, all of them laying still for a moment, before giving up on the phone stopping itself and trying to get up. John, still stood there, watching the attempt with a vaguely amused expression. For one, the upside-down third Sherlock was on the floor, trying to do a backwards roll that the coffee table wasn’t allowing whilst trying to get his foot out of the ginger one’s grip. The ginger one and Sherlock- well, after a little struggle, one of them ended up on the floor groaning, and the other pulled the trilby off his face and sat up. It was only then, apparently, that John was noticed.

“Oh.” Sherlock murmured in a sleep-laced voice, “You’re home. Did you get the milk?”

Yes, he had. Though given that the aforementioned dairy product was in his hand still, he didn’t feel the need to confirm. Instead he just watched as the ginger one slowly pushed himself up to his feet, clambered onto the sofa and dragged a hand down his face. Only once he’d watched the third get up did he say anything.

“What-”

“Triplets.” Sherlock interrupted simply before John could get anymore words out. He stretched, then leant against the ginger one, who was leaning against him too.

“You’re-... A triplet.”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear lord.”

The phone rang out again, and the one who had first fallen to the floor groaned again, digging in his trouser pocket and pulling out the offending item. Only once it had been silenced did he speak.

“James Kimberly Griffith Holmes.” He introduced through a yawn, dragging a hand through his hair and offering a smile. “James or Jim. I’m the youngest.”

The ginger one took his hat back, plopped it on his head and offered a soft smile, blushing faintly in a way that accentuated his freckles. “Captain- I mean, um- M-Martin. Martin Crieff. Um… Martin Sherringford Crieff Holmes… Middle...”

“Your parents had a thing for names, didn’t they?” John found himself saying, eyebrows raised and gaze falling on Sherlock. He got a rolled of the eyes in response, and the detective stood up, wrapping his dressing gown around himself and walking in the direction of his bedroom. “Put the kettle on.”

After his departure there was a few moments of silence, before James stood, brushing his hair back with a hand before offering it to John to shake. “So you’re Sherlock’s Doctor then? John, right?”

“Uh... “ John nodded, automatically taking his hand and shaking it. “Yes. Yeah, John Watson.”


End file.
